


On a Distant Shore

by GirlWithTheDragonHeart



Series: The Wave That Smothers Fire [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, There will be fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 22:18:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6628840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlWithTheDragonHeart/pseuds/GirlWithTheDragonHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After six years of banishment, Prince Zuko finds himself on stranded in the southern water tribe. With a damaged ship and low morale, he's forced to seek aid from the same people his nation has terrorized for decades. <br/>Canon Divergent AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started out as a fun quick project. Then my idea garden overgrew its boundaries and this "chapter" grew into a monster worthy of the Swamp.
> 
> This begins at the end of 102 ASC (After Sozin's Comet), so everyone is three years older than they were during the show. Sozin's Comet didn't return 100 years after the Air Nomad Genocide.

The banished prince huffed and watched his icy breath linger in front of his face as the ship chugged closer to the Southern Water Tribe village. _If you could even call this mess a village,_ Zuko thought to himself. The ramshackle collection of a dozen or so ice huts and skin-covered tents was less than impressive.

He ducked his face inside of his breastplate when a blast of wind whipped around and crossed his arms, trying not to shiver. His armor offered little more than a windbreak, even with a heavy coat layered underneath.

He barely acknowledged Uncle Iroh when he came to join him, nodding grimly. “Prince Zuko, I think you made a wise choice,” Iroh slowly set his hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “Water is still leaking in through the damaged plate much faster than they can bail or pump out. I don’t like to think where we would be if you hadn’t given the order to find port when you did.”

Zuko held the bridge of his nose and exhaled. This backwater camp wasn’t what he had in mind when he thought “port.” At this rate, though, they would be lucky not to sink the ship in harbor. “Thank you, uncle,” he said. “I’m just tired.”

He wasn’t lying. He hadn’t slept more than an hour in the two days since their ship had gotten caught in a late winter squall while trying to make a wide loop around Whale Tale Island. He was tired and also apprehensive about asking foreigners for aid.

If only Zhao would stop running into them and pressing more of the crew into active duty. Zuko was already the youngest man onboard by several decades, and many of the men should have been allowed back home by then.

 _He_ should have been allowed back home by then.

Iroh handed him a steaming mug of tea. Zuko bowed his head in respect as he took it. Even Uncle’s tea was a welcome respite from the shame that Zuko was going to experience shortly.

The crew was ragged and bone-tired. Even younger men would have been drained from standing knee-deep in Antarctic waters, bailing it out of the hold and fixing pumps. As it was, they could not risk any aggression from the Southern Water Tribe.

Zuko had ordered a white flag be stitched together from old linens, and now that dingy sign of weakness fluttered limply at the bow. It seemed to have worked. Now they were close enough for sounds from the village to filter across the water, and he heard no clanging of armor or sharpening of blades. There were just a few cries of children, and shouts of laughter.

There were no war ships in the harbor; a few canoes that did not look sea-worthy rested upside down on shore. Two figures stood at the end of the ice dock, clothed in blue with fur-lined hoods obscuring their faces. He couldn’t make out their ages or genders, and could only hope they would not turn them away.

They lowered the ramp, and Zuko cringed at the clanging noise it made as it bit into the ice below. He focused on his breath, trying to squelch his nerves. The two greeters didn’t seem to be heavily armed; no spears or swords were drawn, though one had a boomerang at his hip and the other a small knife. He made his way down the ramp with Iroh behind him. He eyed the fur parkas of his greeting committee with longing.

He didn’t know what he would find if he did – would they hate him for his nationality and the history of his people? Would they even give him a chance, or would they stain the dock red with his blood?

He bowed deeply, hands clenched in fists at his side. He internally counted to three and straightened, looking at his greeting committee. The first thing that struck him was that they were not going to bow back. He swallowed that initial urge to comment on their disrespect for the prince of the Fire Nation, and watched them.

The two teens – they couldn’t have been any older than he –inspected him. The taller, the boy with a boomerang on his hip, looked at him with a relaxed, open look of curiosity. He nodded his head politely.

The girl, on the other hand, regarded him through narrow suspicious eyes that were the same shade of blue as the icebergs his ship had dodged. When they locked eyes, her attention shifted to his scar and Zuko’s nails dug into the wrappings on his hands.

Zuko swallowed. “Our ship needs repairs,” his throat was dry and speaking difficult. “We would appreciate safe harbor while we make repairs.” He looked them directly in the eye. Iroh cleared his throat behind him. Zuko flicked his eyes toward him. “Please,” he added.

The boy’s eyebrows flew up and the girl crossed her arms as they looked at one another, gesturing with their eyebrows. The silence didn’t last more than half a minute, but Zuko sighed with relief when the boy finally spoke.

“Why don’t you come to speak with our grandmother?” he asked. The woman grimaced and scrunched her nose in disgust. The boy looked at her and just shrugged as if to say _what do you want me to do?_

The girl threw her arms out in defeat and twirled on her heel. “You lead them, Sokka,” she called back over her shoulder. “I guess I’ll be expected to get some food together for our _guests_.”

The two young men inspected each other. Sokka eyed Zuko’s armor, but relaxed slightly when he noticed the lack of weapons at his hip. Zuko hadn’t really met anyone his own age in years, and shifted his weight from foot to foot. Uncle Iroh coughed out the word “introduction,” behind him.

Zuko blinked. Right. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he stood straighter and brought his chin up. “I am – I am Zuko, and this my Uncle Iroh,” he paused momentarily and decided in a split second to avoid bringing up their ties to the royal line. The last thing he needed was to become a useless hostage because of who his father was. With his luck, Zhao would steam in to take the rest of his crew and leave him behind. He doubted a royal title meant much in this frozen wasteland, even for their own people.

He followed the young man through the village. A few small children peeked out though doorways, but were quickly pulled back or shooed away by their mothers. Zuko snorted. They acted like he was the Big Bad Dragon, without realizing what a pathetic situation he really was in.

They stopped at a larger hut in the center of the village. The outside was smooth, as though new snow was packed into cracks regularly and refrozen. He ducked through the small doorway, relieved when Iroh was able to follow without issue.

A fire roared in a stone-lined oven at the opposite end of the room, and woven mats of grass and animal pelts covered the interior walls. There were three curtains that Zuko assumed led to other rooms. The wooden shelves held a few items: dishes, three books, and a few baskets. Various bone swords and club-like tools were mounted on the walls. The young woman used a mitt to remove a water kettle from the fire and set it on a tray on the hearth. She glared daggers at Zuko when he met her eye.

An old woman, face wrinkled from the dry air and harsh climate, sat on the bench nearest the hearth. She did not stand to greet them or smile at them. Zuko bowed again, and saw Iroh doing the same from the corner of his eye.

“You must understand why we would rather you take shelter elsewhere,” the woman started. Zuko flinched but held his bow. “But that is not the Southern Water Tribe way.” She said the words with distaste, mouth puckered as though she had swallowed a particularly tart lychee nut.

Zuko looked up in surprise. “Th-thank you,” he stuttered.

The woman motioned to the other benches lining the walls. “Please sit.”

More introductions were made while the young man – Sokka, and his sister Katara scooted benches around, giving Iroh the other spot closest to the fire. Sokka sat next to Kanna, while Katara grumpily took the seat next to Zuko after serving drinks and a flat bread. The tea was nothing Zuko had seen before – there were large leaves floating in the ceramic cup, and a thick straw leaned against the edge. He followed their lead in drinking the tea through the straw. His mouth puckered from the strong, earthy bitter taste.

Zuko let Iroh relay their troubles while he ran his fingers over the swirls etched into his mug. The glaze on the ceramic was smooth and cool. Iroh spoke of the storm, how Zuko had made the decision to seek port. Katara and Sokka shared a questioning look at the information that Zuko was in charge. He sipped at his tea, slurping loudly when the liquid ran out. Katara bent and refilled his cup with steaming hot water.

“What are you doing this far south?” Katara blurted when their story was complete.

Zuko looked at Iroh, who widened his eyes. “Well, I’m on a bit of a mission?” Zuko ventured, not sure how much detail to give.

Katara’s eyes narrowed and she ground her teeth. “What sort of mission?” she demanded. “We’ve dealt with plenty of firebenders on _missions_ before.”

Kanna shot her granddaughter a look, but did not save Zuko from answering.

Zuko scratched at his neck. He wished she were sitting on his other side, instead of looking directly at his scar. He looked to Iroh, who sipped at his tea slowly. He looked at the three water tribe leaders. “I’m looking for the Avatar,” he finally admitted.

Katara crossed her arms and leaned right shoulder against the wall, facing him. “The Avatar has been lost for the past hundred years. Everyone knows that.”

“I _know_ ,” Zuko snapped back, turning to face her completely. “I didn’t exactly _request_ this mission.”

Katara cocked one eyebrow and studied his face, looking from his good side to his scar and back. Iroh cleared his throat.

“There is one other issue,” he started. “Our ship has taken on a great deal of water. Can we request help in plugging the leak temporarily so that our crew and we may stay on board? We do not want to impose anymore.”

Kanna nodded. “Sokka and Katara will look at it with you. Perhaps they can figure something out.”

Katara shot Zuko another glare, but did not disagree with her grandmother.

Sokka rubbed his hands together in excitement and began asking questions about the leak as he and Katara put their parkas back on and led them out of the hut. As Iroh and Sokka talked about materials and possible plans, Zuko was struck with the realization that they were at the Southern Water Tribe.

“Do you have any waterbenders who could help us?” he asked. “Bail the water out and maybe ice over the leak for now?”

Sokka looked at Katara, eyebrows raised. Katara turned on Zuko.

“No, there are no waterbenders left here,” she spat. “The Fire Nation took them all away.”

Zuko stepped back at her vehemence. “What are you talking about? The Southern Water Tribe nearly destroyed the Southern fleet sixty years ago!” If he knew one thing, it was military history. He looked to his uncle for backup. Iroh shook his head sadly instead.

“I apologize for my nephew,” he said slowly. “Fire Nation history texts tend to emphasize some facts with complete disregard for others.”

Iroh rarely corrected him like this in front of strangers, and he suddenly felt very lonely. His face grew warm. “It was just an idea,” he mumbled.

Katara stomped her foot, the force leaving a small crater in the ice. “Well maybe you should have thought of that before you took all of the waterbenders away.”

Sokka grabbed his sister’s arm and put his other hand on her shoulder. Katara relaxed slightly and seemed willing to back down. Zuko suddenly thought of his own sister, and wondered if he would ever see her again.

“We have some pitch and straw mats we can use,” Sokka said diplomatically. “Katara, will you go grab them from the kayak shed?”

Katara shrugged her brother off and stomped away to the kayak shed. Zuko watched her go, fists clenched at her sides. She left perfectly crisp footprints in the crunchy snow.

Zuko sighed and followed Sokka and his uncle back to the ship, hoping they would find a more permanent solution for their ship before what little welcome they had received from the Southern Water Tribe wore off completely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspirations for this fic:  
> "Call Me Katto" - ShamelessLiar (one tiny question I had while reading it kicked this off)  
> "Wild, Wild Love" - Kangaroo2010 (hello world-building)
> 
> Comments are like candy to me, except for the part where there's no downside to too many comments.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Picks up all of the reviews and stuffs into purse to enjoy forever*
> 
> Huge thanks to my beta, The Adamant Daughter. Check out her story "The Rising" – it's amazing!

 

After a night interrupted by nightmares of the ship tilting and freezing water surrounding him, he woke a few hours before the late Antarctic dawn. He and Iroh ran through firebending sets on deck before morning tea.

Just three years ago, he would have been more likely to stomp away from Iroh if he had corrected Zuko's stance or dump a cup of tea offered to him overboard. The search for the Avatar consumed his thoughts and energy. They scoured the old Air Temples for clues and made a circuit of the entire Earth Kingdom coastline.

And then Zhao had taken to tracking Zuko's cruiser down whenever he felt the need to take more crewmembers to press into service battling Earth Kingdom rebels. He left behind an older officer without family back in the Fire Nation, the men who had served with Uncle Iroh in the siege of Ba Sing Se and couldn't fit back into civilian life, and a few ex-criminals who Iroh had arranged to serve their sentences at sea. Somehow, this smaller, mismatched, aging crew was less intimidating to Zuko than the full crew they left the Fire Nation with.

Zuko stopped searching the skies for a messenger hawk to call him home to regain his place in the line of succession. They took up trading goods for money and stopped chasing rumors of the Avatar.

At some point he realized that these men were all he had, and he needed to treat them with more respect to keep his ship running smoothly. Zuko stopped barking orders. He joined them for music nights. He took watch shifts. He shoveled coal into the furnace. He ran through fire bending techniques with his uncle and drank tea.

They finished their sun salutes as the fluffy snow fell harder from the sky, piling on the deck. After Zuko cleaned up, he checked on the leak. The straw mats and pitch held through the night. Lieutenant Jee and a few other men had plastered more pitch on that morning.

Their main problem was the water that still leaked into the hold. The pump was low on fuel, and they wouldn't have enough coal to get to an Earth Kingdom port if they used much more on the repairs. After he and the crew had bailed out as much water as they could, Zuko set out for a walk to clear his head.

He changed out of his water-soaked clothing and into his warmest layers. He looked at his armor. It would provide a windbreak, but it was also unwieldy and Katara's words about the Fire Nation taking away all of their benders echoed. _Probably not good to keep wearing the uniform of their enemy,_ he thought grimly.

The smell of the warm cook fires wafted to him as he disembarked, but the sting of the wind on his scar kept him from venturing through the village. No need to relive being the Big Bad Dragon, especially since that's how they probably viewed him.

The breeze whipped his hair around, and he silently thanked Iroh for talking him into growing all of his hair out, if only for the extra insulation.

He stuck to the ice shelf that continued on around the natural harbor of the village. After walking nearly a quarter mile, he realized somebody was shouting at him through the stillness of the late morning. Katara ran toward him, waving her blue gloved-hands inland.

"Are you stupid? That ice is too thin," he finally heard her. He looked at his feet and realized his natural body heat had melted a little of the ice shelf away. The ice was almost clear, but the water below was black. He lifted his foot to move inland, but the foot supporting all of his weight cracked the ice.

Time stopped. In one heartbeat, he watched the crack spread like lightning. Water lapped through his boot, burning his pinkie toe. The next, he locked eyes with Katara. She sprinted toward him. The ice beneath him gave way, and his right leg slid into the water. He gasped in shock, scrambling at the surrounding ice to stay out of the water.

The last thing he saw before slipping through the hole completely was Katara still running toward him, close enough for him to see her wide eyes and hear her curses.

The water wasn't black when he opened his eyes. Instead, it was a weak indigo. The sun filtered through it, white and icy and wonderful. Below his feet it was dark, but more like the soft darkness of a cloudy night. He didn't even feel cold, just a strange warm peace as his hair and clothing floated around him and the last bubbles escaped his nose.

Then panic settled in. He gulped in water and began thrashing for the surface. His limbs tingled from the cold shock of the water, and the sunlight winked teasingly at him.

Strong blue arms wrapped around his chest, and for a moment he thought _ice mermaid_. The body at his back kicked up, not toward some ice castle prison below and he relaxed. Brown hair swirled around him and stuck to the scarred side of his face as they broke through the surface. He coughed and a fist pounded at his chest as he vomited water back up. The oxygen soothed his burned lungs and he gasped for more. The wind numbed his face, but the arms held him firmly and propped him up to float on his back, resting against another body. A gust of wind made the waves ripple around them. He shivered and turned his face into the shoulder of his rescuer for protection.

"What are you doing?" Katara grunted, forcing his face back up to the snarling elements. "Tui and La, you are heavy."

Katara readjusted so she could use one arm to swim and continued to curse his stupidity. They floated on their backs, and she kept his shoulders at her chest with one arm looped across his ribs. Zuko kicked his feet, wanting to help. Their legs kept touching, her feet getting caught up with his. In warmer water he knew how to swim, but he had to be delirious from the cold. They were already much closer to the ship than he thought he had been when he fell in.

Katara yelled for help when they drew closer, and Jee and Iroh helped pull him from the water when she pushed him up. They pulled her from the harbor, her teeth chattered as she instructed them to get Zuko into lukewarm – not hot – water. Zuko stumbled against Jee and clenched his teeth against the needle-like sensation of the cold hitting him. The snow drifting down around them froze into Katara's hair in an icy white halo. Iroh helped Katara up the ramp in a similar fashion. Zuko's limbs were heavy and his mind fuzzy. He numbly registered as layers were peeled off and he stepped into a tub of water that seemed to burn.

Sensation returned to his body. He floated in a tub of water in the middle of his quarters, a towel rolled under his neck to support his head. Someone had removed his outer layers, but he still had on his base layers. He sat up and realized Katara was in a tub next to his, arms crossed and face resolutely facing forward, not looking at him. Her parka was draped over the heating pipes that ran along the outer wall, her boots beneath it in a puddle, and she wore a simple blue dress that clung to her arms in the water.

"Thank you," he said, not knowing what else to do. "You didn't need to save me."

"You're a guest of the water tribe," she replied, steadily staring ahead at the red and black Fire Nation emblem on his wall. "It would have been rude to let you turn into a Fire Nation Popsicle."

She refused to look at him. Zuko sunk under the surface of the water to rewet his hair, and he saw her sprinting toward him again, eyes wide. She had risked her life for him, and he felt a strange spark somewhere near his lower left rib. He tried to quash it, thinking perhaps he would never understand Water Tribe hospitality.

He resurfaced, splashing water on the floor. He combed his fingers through his hair, catching Katara looking at him from the corner of his eye.

Iroh bustled in through the open door, and her head jerked to him. "Lady Katara, are you ready for some warmer water?"

Katara smiled thinly at his uncle and nodded. Iroh poured a steaming pitcher of water in her tub before turning toward him "You are lucky that Lady Katara was also out for a stroll this morning."

Before he could turn to Katara to try to thank her again, she ducked her head under the water. He glanced from Katara to his uncle and shrugged. He had tried to thank her, and wasn't sure what more he could do.

Iroh left the room as she came back up, sitting up and slicking her hair back from her face. Her eyes were still closed and Zuko took the opportunity to watch her. She wiped her face and twisted her hair into a knot on top of her head. His face reddened as he realized that when she sat up like that, her dress clinged to more than just her arms. He whipped his face forward, feeling the temperature of his bath rising.

They sat in the tubs without speaking for the longest hour of Zuko's life. Iroh and Jee brought steaming water for Katara, and he continued to warm his own bath. He thought about offering to dip his hand in her water to warm it, but the thought of mentioning it made his ears burn. She obviously didn't trust Firebenders, so she wouldn't want him heating her water. There was that other thing – the idea of his hand in that water felt so… personal. His water heated another few degrees and he focused on his breath to keep it from steaming.

Iroh returned with a robe and began rifling through one of Zuko's drawers. "Lady Katara, if you feel up for it, I can show you to a room where you can change into dry clothes while you wait for your parka to dry out."

Katara looked at her parka and the puddles of water that had formed under it. "That would be nice," she said. Her eyes flickered from him to her parka, and her mouth flattened with the hint of annoyance.

He ducked his face under the water, and when he surfaced she was wearing Iroh's robe, wringing the hem of her parka. She followed Iroh out as he spoke of her staying for tea, and Zuko stewed in his bath, bewildered what to do next.

He tried to keep calm and his water temperature down, but thoughts kept popping into his mind. The feel of her arm looped across his ribs, holding him close to her chest. The way she had jumped in after him without hesitation, swam him to the ship, and immediately took charge of his care.

She didn't seem to like the Fire Nation or Firebenders very much, but Zuko felt certain that they could clear up that part of history. Neither of them had been alive when the raids had happened, so why should what his grandfather did early in his reign matter now?

After a few minutes of stewing in his thoughts and the gently warming water, he decided he had had enough and stepped out of his tub. He searched through his drawers for a set of clothing that did not have the hem completely frayed and were the proper fit. The best red he could find was so faded it nearly looked like an Earth Kingdom fashion. He changed and headed up one level to Iroh's tearoom.

The tearoom was formerly a vacant officer's quarters, converted in the third year of their banishment when Zuko finally agreed they would not have anyone join their search to take it. Iroh had outfitted it with curios, all of their maps, and any books and musical instruments onboard. It smelled of paper and old tobacco, and was the place that reminded Zuko most of home.

Iroh turned as Zuko walked. "Your hero should be joining us shortly," he beamed. "Now, why don't you run a comb through your hair?"

Zuko swatted away Iroh's hand when it came up to touch his hair. He wrung out more of the water and tied it into a messy topknot. Iroh sighed, but straightened and smiled at the sound of the creaking floor in the hall.

Katara walked in wearing one of Zuko's favorite shirts. It was the first time he had seen her wear something other than blue, and the red brought out the rich copper undertones in her cheeks. Her eyes were still pale aquamarine, even without the intensifying effect of her parka. She had rolled the sleeves back to her elbows, and the tie showed off her slim waist.

Zuko wondered how such a small person could swim so fast while towing him. Noticing him, she clutched the neckline together just below her throat, as though she were afraid it would fall open under his stare.

He blinked and swallowed, looking at her feet, clad in a pair of his socks. They bunched loosely around her ankles. A hands width of a pale brown shin peeked out between the top of the socks and a set of white leggings. He assumed they were hers, and he wondered briefly how she dried them so quickly.

"Lady Katara," he bowed, fist formerly in palm. "Thank you for risking your own life to save my own foolish one."

She sighed, but stood a little straighter. "I accept your apology… Sir Zuko," she replied haughtily, bowing her head slightly in return. "I sincerely hope that this experience has taught you an important lesson."

Zuko pointedly ignored both her comment and how Iroh hid a smile behind his hand.

"Um, would you like tea?" he asked, motioning toward the low table and the cushions. The corners of her lips turned up slightly and Zuko was struck with the idiotic thought that her smile would be very pretty.

He poured the tea like Iroh had taught him, and silently placed stale teacakes on each of their plates. Iroh thanked him and complimented him. Katara made a sour face as she forcefully bit into the cake. Zuko tried to remember when they last purchased teacakes and wondered where Iroh had found this stash. He grimaced.

A faint clanking rose from the hold. Katara sipped her tea and cleared her throat.

"How are your repairs going?" she asked.

Zuko shrugged and looked to Iroh. "We still haven't found a more permanent solution, but your brother's solution with the mats and pitch held overnight," Iroh said, glancing at Zuko. "Thank you for your hospitality."

They fell back into the silence. Iroh took up the teapot and refilled the small cups when they emptied. Katara looked slyly at Zuko's teacake, untouched, and Iroh's, which he had cut into small pieces. She picked hers up and dipped it in her tea before biting into it.

Zuko blinked at her tactical brilliance and followed her lead. She chewed on hers and watched him with a smug look. His eyes widened at how it improved the texture as well as the taste. He smiled at her and nodded approvingly. This time, the corners of her eyes turned up as she smiled with her mouth closed.

"We have biscuits that are impossible to eat if you don't dip them in something," she said, eyes widening. "Not that these tea cakes are impossible to eat!"

Iroh hit the table with his palm, laughing. "I believe this is the first time we've eaten teacakes in at least six months."

Zuko turned to Katara, who steadily met his gaze. He felt blood rushing to his face and realized he needed to say something. "We normally only drink tea," he mumbled. "We thought they would last better than they have."

It was easy to forget their poverty in banishment and their shrinking allowance when nobody else was around. Zuko felt a flash of embarrassment at how little he had. He suddenly saw the room from the perspective of an outsider. The filling in the cushions was lumpy, and the table needed a new coat of varnish. Their tea was still good quality, but only because Iroh knew two things best: the art of the bargain, and how to spot a deal.

Katara continued to watch him as she brought her small teacup up for another sip. Unsure whether this was supposed to be a contest of sorts or simply a test he didn't know how to pass, he looked away to refill her cup. She tilted her head as she watched him, and he did his best not to fidget in his seat.

"I'm glad to see that the peace treaty has held up," he said, comparing the village to his own meager quarters.

Katara looked at him over her cup, brows furrowed. "What peace treaty?"

Zuko swallowed nervously. "The one the Fire Nation forged with the Southern Water Tribe." He glanced at Iroh nervously; his eyes held that thousand-yard stare that arose when they spoke about the war. "At the beginning of Fire Lord Azulon's reign. When the fighting ended."

"You really don't know what the Fire Nation has done here, do you?" her question pierced the silence.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This was not the change of subject he had wanted. He looked at his uncle, who merely shrugged. He probably thought this was the perfect opportunity to discuss cultural differences or something.

"The Southern Water Tribe Push of Aggression was 60 years ago," Zuko admitted, eyeing the books that lined the walls longingly. "They started attacking Fire Nation ships and we retaliated." He felt like whatever he said would be the wrong answer. "It wasn't until the Southern Raiders led successful campaign against the Southern Capital that peace was declared."

Katara had propped her head in her hand with her elbow on the table while he spoke. "It's amazing how you've written your history books," she shook her head. She looked to Iroh. "And what do you know of it, Elder?"

Iroh placed his cup on the table and wiped his upper lip with his napkin. He sighed and folded his hands in his lap.

"Our nation has a habit of writing its history in a way to best portray our… ideals," he admitted. "We have rewritten the old stories and tailored them to justify horrific acts." He eyed Zuko's scar.

Zuko didn't notice how Katara followed Iroh's line of sight, or how her cheeks sucked in as she bit down on the inside.

Iroh uncovered the teapot and peered inside. He poured more hot water over the leaves. The faint clanging of repairs echoed up to them.

"I don't think I want to know how you've rewritten this," Katara exhaled. "But to 'keep the peace,' as you would put it, the Fire Nation took away all of the Southern Water Benders. Do you know what happened to them?"

She disregarded Zuko's wide uncomprehending stare, and looked back to Iroh. He shook his head and spoke when he realized her question was not rhetoric.

"I would assume they were taken prisoner," he stated.

"Taken prisoner," Katara repeated, her voice thick. Her face was red and fists clenched on the table in front of her. "Maybe that first batch of waterbenders, but we've sent plenty of others' bodies out to sea since then, benders and nonbenders alike."

She said it with such conviction – as if she had personally been involved in the funeral rights of casualties of battle. But there hadn't been any battles in the South in his lifetime – probably even his father's lifetime. "That's not right," he argued. "The Fire Nation takes prisoners – we don't kill outside of battle."

"Are you calling me a liar?" Katara slammed her palms on the table, splashing what tea remained over the edges of all three of their cups. Neither Iroh nor Zuko moved to clean it up. "How many funeral shrouds have you helped stitch? How many times have you shifted through ashes to salvage family heirlooms?"

Zuko's face felt warm, but he couldn't take the time to figure out how much was from anger or shame. "We've lost loved ones to this war too," he barked. He couldn't look at his uncle. Katara opened her mouth to argue, but he spoke over her spluttering. "It's not like we personally started it either. This has been going on longer than any of us have been alive."

Her eyebrows flew up, and she snapped her mouth shut again. "I think I should go," she stood, primly straightening the oversized shirt. "Which way is my parka again?"

Zuko looked to Iroh, who stared at the puddles of tea on the table. "Zuko, will you show her?"

Zuko stared at his uncle and shook his head, silently pleading not to go. Iroh's golden eyes flared with annoyance as he leveled his gaze on his nephew. "Prince Zuko," he enunciated slowly. "Please assist the lady in finding her way."

Zuko huffed and rose to his feet. He brushed past Katara, ignoring the stiffness of her shoulders and white-knuckled grip on the neckline of the shirt. He stormed down the hall, turning his head enough to watch her follow from the corner of his eye.

She didn't look up at him, just at his feet. He strode down the hall and narrow staircase and tried not to think about how infuriating she was, how wrong she was. He forced open the door to his room, slamming it against the wall with gusto. He snatched her parka off the heating pipe. It was nearly dry, but he focused his annoyance at steaming the remaining dampness out of the hood and hem.

Katara remained silent through it all, and seized it from him as soon as he held it out to her. She pulled it over her head and scurried out of the room and up to the deck before he could say goodbye.

Zuko pinched his nose and closed his eyes, leaning against the doorframe. The entire day with Katara left him confused. She was unlike anybody he had ever met before – jumping in and saving him from frigid waters one minute, and blaming him for all of the wrongs of his country the next. He tried not to think of her, the way she had held him and swam with him. How she smiled at him over stale teacakes dipped in tea. Her anger and raw hurt. Her blue dress. He sighed, pushed himself up, and trudged back upstairs to rejoin his uncle.

Iroh had mopped up the spilled tea and had a steaming cup waiting for Zuko. Zuko accepted the cup with a nod and smelled the tea. Iroh took a sip of his, releasing a contented sigh.

"When I first attended the war councils, there was talk of the Southern Raiders," Iroh cradled his cup in both of his hands. "The majority of the raids were before I was alive, but from what I gather, they effectively captured or killed all of the benders within a decade." He stopped and sipped his tea. "After that, it was just a matter of having spies in a few of the villages and collect information on new waterbenders. The Raiders mostly ran quick missions on the Earth Kingdom out of Whale Tail Island."

A knot simultaneously untangled in Zuko's chest and coiled in his belly, heavy like a snake at the words "new waterbenders." He forced himself not to look away, to continue to listen to Iroh.

Iroh's face no longer held color, but he maintained eye contact with Zuko. "The airbenders were gone, either dead or scattered. If the Avatar had survived the initial attack, he would be dead soon. The next element in the cycle was water," Iroh paused. "And the Avatar would most likely be a woman born into the Southern Water Tribe."

Zuko propped his elbow on the table and pinched his nose again. "No wonder she hates us so much," he muttered.

Iroh finished his tea. "It is only one of many atrocities in this long war."

He stood and patted Zuko's shoulder, leaving him to wonder what else had been missing from his history lessons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *begs for more candy*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million hugs for TheAdamantDaughter, who basically held my hand through writing (and rewriting) this entire chapter.
> 
> And a million kisses for the reviewers! Thank you so much for letting me know what you think - I really appreciate it!

His conversation with his uncle buzzed at the back of his mind for the rest of the day. _The next Avatar would most likely be a woman born in the South_. He had pretty much given up on his quest for the Avatar, but his uncle had never shared this theory with him, even at the height of his mania.

While he lay in his bunk that night staring at the ceiling, dark voices whispered promises of restored honor if he could bring the Avatar home. Perhaps his uncle didn’t believe that particular rumor. _Perhaps his uncle never wanted him to find the Avatar_. Perhaps his uncle knew that the Southern Water Tribe didn’t need to be terrorized by an obsessed princeling.

Months had passed since he had really thought about his banishment or his quest. He avoided any thoughts of it because it made him feel like a fraud. He failed to gather any new information, and the one hundred year cold case frustrated him to no end.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried – visiting all of the air temples, searching for signs that somebody had returned since the Comet. There was no sign aside from the crazy old non-bender at the Eastern Air Temple who ate nothing but onion-banana smoothies. The Guru and Iroh instantly struck a wise-old-man friendship, speaking in riddles and Spirit World allusions while shooting meaningful glances in Zuko’s direction. Their metaphors grated on his patience until he threw down his bowl, storming back to the ship and sullenly waiting for Iroh on the deck.

Zuko had regarded the Guru more like an ancient relic than an actual person. The Eastern Air temple was a dead end, but ruins were easier to deal with than people. They never fought back, unlike that disaster at Kyoshi Island.

They had landed at Kyoshi Island, hoping to learn more about the Avatar before Roku, and were greeted by hostile stares and sharpened fans. He marched down the gangplank confidently anyway, demanding information. He was, after all, the Prince of the Fire Nation, banished or not.

The leader of the warrior women greeted him in the full green regalia and white makeup. Her battle armor gleamed in the sunlight, and she ordered the women who surrounded their small landing party with confidence and poise. She stood with her hands on her hips and somehow glared down at him despite their height difference. He thought they meant to impress him, and show him respect. It was only when she laughed at his orders did he realize she was also still a teenager.

She swept his feet out from under him and pinned him to the dock, not even using the fans or sword at her hip. _If you don’t leave on that ship right now_ , she threatened as she stepped on his windpipe, lunging closer to his face and grinning, _the Unagi will eat well tonight._

Iroh turned white, and hustled them away. Apparently the Unagi were fearsome enough that even his uncle wanted to avoid them. Even after the bruises faded from his throat, her mocking laugh echoed in his mind.

He avoided strangers after that, hopping from port to port, depending on Iroh to strike up conversations, and just praying that some information would land in his lap. His uncle’s new revelation could be the key though, and hopes of returning home triumphantly fluttered in his chest. What if the Avatar were hiding somewhere here, at the South Pole?

That voice continued to whisper to him, and he sat up. He put on his slippers and stood up, created a small flame in his palm, and padded out to find a drink of water. The cool air in the hall cleared his mind, and he focused on that other piece of information that was more damming – the _new waterbenders_ the Fire Nation had taken away.

It was just as likely that the Southern Raiders had succeeded in accidentally imprisoning or killing the next Avatar and a new one was growing up somewhere in the vastness of the Earth Kingdom, fermenting revolt against the Fire Nation in favor of a serfdom.

And now he was stuck in the South, desperately in need of a waterbender, and forced to face the aftermath of his nation’s deeds. There was no honor in raiding villages that didn’t even have warships or warriors. This wasn’t a community at peace, like he had originally thought. This was a community struggling to survive.

In his history lessons before his banishment, his tutors only extolled the Fire Nation’s military might in the face of the backward-thinking foreigners who refused to share in their generous offer of progress. For the first time, Zuko wasn’t sure if he completely bought into that vision.

He shivered in the galley. They didn’t heat this part of the ship; the stoves kept it toasty when they were lit. A thin sheet of ice covered the top of the fresh water, and he used the dented iron ladle to break through the crust. He stared into the barrel, extinguishing his flame as he leaned against the edge.

The ice had felt so solid beneath his feet, and he had crashed though it so silently. He hated to think of what would have happened if Katara hadn’t jumped in. He breathed heavily and dipped the ladle through the hole in the ice. He didn’t understand her. As soon as she knew that he was fine, her concern disappeared and she turned short with him.

He brought the ladle to his mouth and tipped his head back. Refreshed, he shook his head and headed back to bed.

* * *

“Uncle,” he said a few mornings later as they watched the sun rise through the small window in the tearoom. “Do you think Zhao will find us here?”

Iroh sipped his tea. “That would be most unfortunate,” he responded.

Zuko held his teacup in both hands and looked down the amber liquid. Unfortunate seemed like an understatement. “Any progress on fixing that leak?”

His uncle shook his head. “I believe we will need more assistance from the Water Tribe, but they might not be as willing to help us now.”He still felt Iroh’s speculative glance from the corner of his eye. “You should probably apologize to the lady.”

Zuko felt the blood rushing in his face. “Apologize for what, uncle? I’m not the one who stormed out like a… like a…”

“If I remember correctly, there was some stomping and door slamming,” Iroh said. “You may not have initiated it, but you did act like a petulant child.”

Zuko finished his tea and set his cup down. He stood and crossed his arms, watching the sun crest the horizon. “I’ll apologize later,” he said, and retreated from the room.

* * *

Zuko tried to avoid both the shore and thoughts of the water tribe girl for the next few days. He bailed water out of the hold and concentrated on bending. He watched the snow fall on the deck and shoveled it off.

The large flakes caressed his face, swirling around him like long brown hair in glacial water. The smaller icy pellets stung at his face and back like biting words and unpleasant truths. When the sky cleared during the few hours of daylight, it was the same shade as a certain pair of eyes.

And on one such clear-skied morning, a blue dress was delivered with the rest of his laundered clothes, and he finally conceded to his uncle’s advice.

He killed time by playing with his hair. Pulled up in a tidy topknot, he looked too much like his father. It was too long to leave loose. He tried forgoing tradition and pulled it back halfway, and then inspected his reflection. He didn’t look like his father, but he also didn’t look like a prince. _Not like that matters much here,_ he thought, deciding to leave it. He rubbed at his scar, absently playing his old game where it would magically smooth back down into unmarred creamy skin. He sighed, put his mirror back in its drawer, and wrapped the dress in plain brown paper to avoid awkward questions or accusations.

With no other excuses, he walked down the ramp and toward the village. Five or six of the younger children played in the field between the village and the dock, piling the snow into a dozen mounds no taller than his knee. They reminded him of playing in the sand with Azula and Lu Ten on Ember Island.

The women and other children stopped their work as he trudged by. They didn’t run inside or hide, but watched him wearily. Someone sniggered when his boot slipped on the ice and he slid a few inches before regaining his balance. His heart thudded heavily in his chest, and he stepped with more caution.

When he reached the ice hut, Zuko took a deep breath, knocked on the narrow door, and waited. There was no response or noise from within, so he rapped his knuckles more assertively.

This time, a voice came from behind the hut. “I’m around back,” Kanna called.

Zuko ducked under a blanket hanging on a line strung between their hut and the neighbors’ a dozen feet away. Kanna stood at a worktable with a knife in her hand, a dozen or so whole fish piled on the left edge of the table, and a stack of fillets on her right. One eyebrow arched at him, and like the last time they met she did not smile.

“Zuko,” she stated simply, placing the entrails in a bucket at her feet. “What a pleasant surprise.” Her tone was neutral, so he couldn’t tell if she was sincere or just polite.

“Thank you,” he replied. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Is Katara here?” He clutched the brown package with both hands, crinkling the heavy paper.

Kanna grabbed another fish, cutting in behind the head. “No, she’s burying the Hakarl with Sokka. They should be home soon though.” She pushed a strand of hair out of her face with her forearm. “You are more than welcome to wait here.” This came out more as a demand than a request, and after a moment of hesitation, he acquiesced.

“Thank you,” he said again. Zuko placed the bundle on a bench that sat against the back of the hut. He stood by the table, awkwardly watching Kanna’s knife slice down the fish’s spine, the meat sliding away from the rest of the fish effortlessly.

“Don’t just stand there,” Kanna’s voice sharpened. “Make yourself useful.” She motioned toward a large shallow wooden box and a bag across from her on the table. “Pour the salt in that box and pack the fillets in.”

Zuko stepped up to the table before he even considered disobeying her. She barked out orders, and he asked questions to make sure he was packing the fish correctly. He realized quickly that he was overthinking his task, and instead allowed the repetitive motion of her knife hypnotize him. For a few minutes, neither said anything. The laughter and shouts of the children filtered through the village. Kanna’s knife silently flicked bones away from flesh, and salt crunched softly as Zuko poured it over the fillets.

“I’ve heard a great deal about you from my granddaughter,” Kanna broke the silence. “And our… differing perspectives on history.”

The back of Zuko’s neck itched, and he focused on rubbing the salt-and-herb mixture over the fish and packing them in the wooden box. Kanna wiped the blade on her heavy apron and continued when he said nothing. Her chin lifted and eyes narrowed as she inspected him. “You wonder why we greeted you with tea instead of spears and why we let you stay here.”

He thought of narrowed eyes tracking him through the village and of blue-clad arms pulling him from icy depths. Kanna verbalized the question that had stewed at the back of his mind for the past week, but the answer would probably force him to question everything he knew even more. He shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.

“I have seen many other Fire Nation ships land here,” she started, her voice soft and melodic. “It always began the same, but the terrors were different. Black snow fell a day before from the coal-powered engines, giving us time to prepare to fight; time to pray to Tui and La; time to hold our loved ones close before the impending fight. When the black ships arrived it was the same, no matter what we did. The bows rammed the dock and the boarding planks gouged deeply into the ice.”

Zuko bent his knees slightly to keep from cramping up, ignoring the salt as it burned his hands. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I am answering your question, young firebender,” Kanna’s gaze sharpened before her attention returned to the knife in her hand and the fish on the table. She continued as if she were recounting an epic saga or poem instead of cataloging the horrors of his countrymen. “The masked soldiers marched down those planks shoulder-to-shoulder, the beat echoing across the ice plain. They took the lives they required with such cold calculation you might think they were the ones from the icy ends of the earth: trapping the waterbenders in the prison holds until all of the iron cells were full, threatening healers away from the warriors the left bleeding out on the ice, and simply burning others beyond recognition.”

Zuko’s scar stiffened as his eyes widened, and he shivered. Grey clouds loomed ominously further inland, rolling toward them.

“I watched my dearest friend taken away; I sat by my husband’s side while he died on the ice; I was the one who had to teach my granddaughter how to stitch a funeral shroud.”

Zuko remembered Katara saying something similar at tea about funeral rites, and wondered if he should ask more. His countrymen had killed someone very close to her. His jaw clenched tighter, but he forced himself to meet Kanna’s eye.

“It is not the natural order for old women to outlive the young,” she said. “When your ship came into port with that white flag raised, it was different. That is why I sent Sokka and Katara to greet you. You made requests instead of demands. You did not send your men out into the village; they stayed on the ships.”

“You trusted us because of that white sheet?” Zuko asked. “What if it had been a trick?”

“I never said I trusted you,” Kanna’s mouth puckered. “But even from shore we could see how your ship listed.” She exhaled heavily through her nose, shoulders jerking up reflexively. Zuko thought her puckered lips might from suppressing a smile or a laugh. She recovered and stared at him across the table. “We knew that you wouldn’t make it back out of our harbor in that state.”

Zuko’s face went warm, stinging more as a brisk wind whipped up. His back stiffened; he understood her challenge. He had done nothing to earn their trust. They would regard him with suspicion until the day his ship finally chugged away and left them to sigh in relief. For some reason, that irked him.

_They’re nothing but peasants,_ that dark voice argued. _Don’t concern yourself with what they think of you_. He ignored it. He wanted their trust, even if he didn’t know why.

The incoming clouds smelled like snow, but he maintained eye contact with Kanna, not sure what to say.

Her hands stilled, and she looked him steadily in the eye. “You came peacefully, you requested help, and to deny that request would be dishonorable. No matter your nationality, we will not send you back out to sink at sea.”

“Thank you,” he said, nodding his head respectfully.

With a curt nod, Kanna finished filleting the last fish and dipped the knife in a bucket of water, wiping it dry on a clean cloth. She put it back in a leather sheath, slipped it into her pocket, and then walked around the table to stand at his elbow to oversee his work. If she had been tall enough, he suspected she would have peered over his shoulder, but the top of her head barely came to his bicep. She nodded once in approval and returned to clean the fish entrails off the table.

When all of the fish was packed in the box and the rest of the salt poured over it, he placed the lid on it tightly. The wind howled across the plain now, whipping his hair up and around.

Kanna took two leather straps to keep the lid in place, motioned for him to pick up the box, and led the way to a food cellar below their ice hut. He placed it on a low shelf, admiring the other meats, braided vegetables, and strange jars in the dim light.

He ducked to avoid hitting his head in the low staircase, and emerged to find the wind had died down. The weather front had finished moving in, and flakes drifted down quietly. Kanna stared at the snow with an empty gaze and a tightly clenched jaw. He held out his pale chapped hand, and his heart sank when he realized that the snow collecting there was a dark grey.


End file.
